


From Mutual Hate

by asylumsession



Series: Hetalia Oneshots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asylumsession/pseuds/asylumsession
Summary: In which Heracles and Sadik suddenly see each other in a very different light.





	From Mutual Hate

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday gift to one of my friends, inspired by the prompt in the photo. I was trying a new style with this, so.

It isn't a secret that Heracles Karpusi and Sadik Adnan, with all of their beings, despise each other.

Frankly, Heracles can't stand the way the other man always seems to be somewhere near him. They do nothing but bicker all the time –  _and he knows because he's typically the one to initiate it –_ but somehow, they always end up in the same room or building or with the same person. Heracles is really beginning to feel sorry for Kiku; he serves as a medium between two forces that can't be reckoned with once they've started fighting.

A part of him feels as though the Japanese man  _must_  be growing sick of it by now. He concludes that it will be all Sadik's fault when Kiku stops bothering. Then again, Kiku is a very patient person. He's been dealing with Heracles and Sadik for years.

 _Years._  The word rings oddly in his head. Heracles only pauses to wonder if it's really been that long; he's known Sadik for years. He finds it rather amusing that nothing changes between the two of them, at least not outwardly.

It isn't a secret that Heracles Karpusi and Sadik Adnan, with all of their beings, despise each other.

Lately, Heracles is feeling something new. He doesn't like the way his chest tightens at the thought of the other man; Heracles can pass that off as anger. He doesn't like the way the poison sting of jealousy strikes him when he sees Sadik flirting with someone, arguing with someone else; Heracles can pass it off as him being annoyed that Sadik is at it again. He hates the way that he wants Sadik to move closer, closer still,  _close that gap_  , when they're arguing; Heracles cannot pass that off as anything and he  _hates_  it.

If he's being honest, Heracles does not hate a lot of things.

His shoulder is shoved roughly and his eyes flicker open. He recalls the fact that he's in class and probably shouldn't have fallen asleep, but he can't really bring himself to care. Sadik glowers at him, face inches away. Heracles freezes; his heart stops and his breath catches and his mind stops functioning for a split second before he screams at himself to  _react, pull away and don't listen don't close the gap don't._

He remembers he's supposed to be throwing curses and insults at Sadik now, grumbling about being woken up. A part of him doesn't want to, and he forces himself to do it anyways, planting his palm against the Turk's face and shoving.

“Don't make me wake up to something so hideous,” Heracles tells him; Sadik takes offense and they plunge into one of their not so uncommon arguments.

To Heracles, this is natural. He doesn't have to pretend here, shooting insults back and forth with the Turk. It's a normal occurrence but he can't quite forget how much he wants to close that insufferable gap, feel the other's skin and hair beneath his fingertips –  _inwardly, Heracles absolute insists that the thoughts mean he wants to fist fight Sadik, that's all._ Heracles rather wishes he could just go back to sleep, but it seems as though class is over.

He shoves Sadik aside with one last mutter of a curse and drags his feet all the way out, ignoring the annoyed words Sadik shoots at his retreating back. Usually, Heracles seems to have a bit of a hard time resisting any sort of urge to whirl around and get into it with the Turk for what is no doubt at  _least_ the sixth time that particular day, but he frankly finds he's too tired at the moment.

It's a process, he supposes.

He hears a familiar voice that makes him pause just within the doorway and listen.

“Well, they'll either resolve their differences or tear each other apart,” Francis is saying; Heracles doesn't doubt it's Kiku that the Frenchman is talking to, but he half wonders who the blond is talking about.

When a pair of footsteps fades down the hall, Heracles finally steps out. Unsurprisingly, Kiku is waiting there. He's looking down at a piece of paper that Heracles can't read, but he notes Francis' unmistakable handwriting before Kiku abruptly folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket with a frown. Heracles considers questioning it, but Sadik, leaving the room behind him, jostles his shoulder with a growl and says his hellos to Kiku as he goes off down the hall.

Heracles fixes Sadik's back with a glare, wishing looks  _could_  kill.

Kiku gently taps his shoulder and Heracles reluctantly tears his gaze away from the Turk, shaking his head and following his shorter friend. Heracles only half listens to the Asian speaking about the latest book he chose to pick up; or perhaps it's a manga that Kiku is talking about. Heracles isn't entirely sure anymore.

~*~

It takes Heracles to the end of the day to realize that something is very off. He instinctively denies the fact that he pays any attention whatsoever to the whereabouts of Sadik –  _probably off flirting again or getting himself into detention,_  he reasons – but he finds that it's still rather hard to ignore the fact that the Turk practically vanishes halfway through the day. It's times like this, usually when Sadik skips school, that he realizes just how much pent up annoyance he usually takes out on the Turk, because now there's nobody for him to release it on and he can't nap in class because of it.

It doesn't help that Heracles constantly catches himself searching for Sadik. Kiku questions this at least twice, but Heracles keeps dismissing it so Kiku gives up. Heracles almost hopes that Kiku will keep asking. Hearing himself deny it out loud is a fraction more convincing than just constantly saying it within the confines of his head.

He quickly finds that it's growing harder and harder to deny it, but he has to because he can't  _he can't_  allow himself to have feelings for Sadik  _he can't he can't_  so he pushes them away. A part of him wonders when it started to admit that he  _does_  have some sort of feeling other than hatred for Sadik.

Gym is the last class of the day, and by far Heracles' most hated. He shares it with Kiku and Sadik, the latter of which usually spends the period torturing Heracles or forcing said Grecian to do something athletic rather than sleep like he usually wants to. Sadik's absence is very evident here and Heracles does not like it. It seems that most of the others just assume the Turk left, but Heracles knows better; if Sadik intends to skip class, he'll skip the entire day and not certain periods.

“Heracles-kun?” Kiku's voice sounds from behind him, effectively ripping Heracles from his thoughts. “Everybody wants to play football – ah, soccer,” he adds, when Alfred shoots him a look from nearby. “-so can you come with me to the storage to get the goals? I can't carry both of them myself.”

Heracles nods, noting the keys to the gym's storage room dangling from Kiku's hand. Kiku takes the lead and Heracles fall into step. He welcomes the distraction that Kiku provides; it allows him to take his mind off of Sadik for the time being.

Upon arriving, Kiku takes a moment to unlock the door and open it. “The goals should be in the corner,” he tells Heracles, who nods and turns to go in.

The Grecian is only a couple of steps in before he promptly spots a too familiar Turk and the door suddenly shuts behind him. The lock clicks just as Heracles whirls around and slams against it, turning the knob harshly.

“Sumimasen, it was Francis-kun's idea!” Kiku's voice, half panicked, floats in.

Heracles listens as his footsteps quickly fade down the hall, hands resting against the door. The sound of a rough, only partially amused chuckle reaches his ears and slowly, slowly, Heracles dares to turn. Sadik sits in the corner with his back against the wall and one leg stretched out in front of him. One of his arms rests over said leg and the other is propped up on his knee, which is bent up to his chest. The Turk grins and Heracles notes that he isn't wearing his mask.

“They got you too, huh?”

Heracles' gaze flicks quickly between Sadik and the door. Perhaps if he rams it hard enough he won't have to focus on the way Sadik's voice gives him chills or the way those green eyes glitter in the faint light or how attractive he is and  _Heracles inwardly screams at himself to shut u_ _p shut up shut up._ He refuses to think of Sadik or anything Sadik related as  _attractive_. Instead, Heracles glowers at the Turk.

“What the hell is  _your_  excuse?”

Sadik's eyes narrow dangerously; Heracles is almost positive there is flames like fear flickering in the depths of the green orbs. “That's none of your concern.”

And those flames terrify Heracles, because he  _knows._

All the same, he pushes it. “ _None of my concern?_  We're locked in a storage closet together –  _us two specifically –_ and you're telling me it's none of my concern? I'd agree to disagree, Sadik!”

The Turk rises to his feet in one fluid motion and moves forward, lips drawn back in a snarl. “Don't patronize me right now, Heracles,” he growls and Heracles finds himself grateful that it's quite dark, because he shivers at the way his name sounds, bit sharply from Sadik's tongue.

Oh, but Heracles does not want to stop now. “ _Oh?_ ” He drags out the word harshly. “And why the hell shouldn't I?”

Sadik moves closer and that  _need_  to close that ever present gap overwhelms Heracles again. “Because,” Sadik's voice is low and Heracles freezes at something in the rough tone; his gaze drops and he knows he can't look Sadik in the eye because if he does he might break and he  _can't_. But Sadik only continues. “if you do, I might just snap. You of all people should know by now, I don't have very much control when I want something.”

Heracles can't breathe. He steps back,  _back back back through the wall get away get away_ , until his back hits the door. His fingers grope for the knob, curling around the metal when they locate it. It's locked still, he knows, but that doesn't stop him from twisting it again.

But Heracles is not entirely capable of thinking through his words when it comes to Sadik.

“I'm still waiting on that excuse,” he informs the other.

Sadik's palm flattens against the door by his head so abruptly that Heracles jerks to the side, only for the Turk's other arm to box him in. Heracles has never wanted to sink into himself as badly as he wants to in this moment. Because he  _knows._ He knows exactly what is going to come out of Sadik's parting lips.

“You.”

 _Closer closer closer close that gap no get away get away._ “I hate you,” Heracles says, and this time, his voice is a whisper; he dares to meet Sadik's eyes.

And Sadik sighs. “I hate you, too.”

Neither protests when their lips meet.

 


End file.
